


My Brother's Keeper

by JuxtaposeFantasy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Multi, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuxtaposeFantasy/pseuds/JuxtaposeFantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam becomes fed up with Dean picking up a woman at every stop. But he's not sure what he intends to do about it. Or is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"So, Dean . . . the cocktail server or the bartender? Who's the lucky lady this time?"

Sam shook his head ruefully as his brother took his time considering the two attractive female employees of the Slapshot Bar & Grill. Dean had been flirting with the two women in between hustling games of pool. His luck with the pool cue tonight seemed to be mirrored in his sex life. He had a solid chance of walking away with either of the women. Heck, by the looks they were giving Dean as they whispered to each other at the bar Sam would go so far as to say his brother might even have a chance of getting laid by both of them.

"I'm not sure yet," Dean mused in response to his question. "The brunette has killer legs but I have to admit it's been a while since I've had a redhead." He was leaning back against the pool table, cue in hand, his wallet two hundred bucks fatter. The wink he sent Sam was as cocky as could be. "What do you say, Sammy? Want a date tonight? I know you're hard up, man."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever, dude. I'm not a man-whore like you are." He took a pull off his beer. "I can get my own date, thank you very much."

Dean whistled as he continued to study the women. "I don't know, Sammy. The brunette has been giving you looks all night. Well, when she wasn't giving them to me, of course."

"It doesn't bother you that she hasn't been faithful?" Sam asked sarcastically.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Good point. Looks like it's going to be the redhead, then." He returned the cue to the holder in the corner and reached for his wallet. "You want to get a separate room?"

Sam finished off the last of his beer, hoping it would put out the small bonfire that had flared to life in his stomach. "No way. We're short on cash as it is. We're not wasting money on two rooms."

He watched Dean cast a doubtful glance at the bartender. "I don't know if she's gonna go for the back seat of the Impala, Sammy . . ."

"You're not fucking anybody in a car I've gotta ride around in," Sam immediately countered. The thought of it pissed him off for some reason. Maybe it was that he considered the ride to be his and Dean's private space. He didn't want an interloper defiling it. "Look, we've got two beds in our room. As long as you keep it on your bed, I'll turn my back and pretend you're not there. I'm pretty wiped out anyhow. I'll probably be asleep before you get to second base."

Dean looked at him skeptically. "You're serious. You're gonna sleep there while she and I are --"

"Yes," Sam snapped, wishing he were way more drunk and on the verge of passing out. Despite what he said to Dean he could envision a long, miserable night ahead. "Just keep it down as much as you can, alright? Don't go having rough sex against the wall or something."

Dean gave a short laugh, but he looked at Sam with curiosity. "Yeah, sure thing. No rough sex against the wall. Got it."

"Fine. I'm outta here. Good luck," he added, though they both knew Dean didn't need it. Dean rarely needed it. He was good-looking and charming and who could say no to that? "You have your key?"

Dean patted the pocket of his leather jacket. He was still looking at Sam intently. "We'll try not to wake you."

Sam snorted as he ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks." He brushed past Dean and strode through the bar without looking at either of the women. As he reached the door he heard Dean's voice raised in question and a female voice responding coyly. Frowning, Sam pushed out into the night.

********************************

When it hit two-thirty in the morning he began to think that maybe he'd gotten lucky. The red-haired bartender must have invited Dean back to her place. It was a risky move on her part, but Sam had learned these last few weeks that people weren't always as smart or as cautious as they should be.

But tonight that was a good thing. It meant he would be able to sleep. He wouldn't have to hear the two of them going at it like --

He hurriedly rolled over onto his right side, putting his back to the door as he heard the key rotating in the lock. He shut his eyes, drawing the sheet up over his shoulders as a wedge of street light appeared on the wall before him and widened into the shape of a door. Two silhouettes blocked it and then the light diminished and eventually disappeared. The door snicked shut.

Sam tried to breathe slowly and force his body to relax. If he couldn't sleep he wanted to at least look like he was. And if he could get his heartbeat to slow down maybe the blood would stop rushing in his ears and he could hear better . . .

He breathed shallowly, listening to indistinguishable whispers. He heard the wet smack of a kiss and then a soft moan. Hers.

Clothing rustled. Some article of clothing hit the floor. Something heavy. Dean's jacket? Then more wet noises and another moan. Sam's eyes cracked open. That moan had been his brother's.

For at least two minutes after that he listened to them kissing. Occasionally another piece of clothing hit the floor. He heard their breathing become louder and faster. He heard another moan, stifled. A shocked gasp. Sam's eyes were wide open now, staring at the shadows the window cast on the wall in front of him. He watched them fall, unable to tell which shadow belonged to whom. The bed creaked as they landed on it. 

Shit. The mattress was gonna be a bitch.

But then Sam forgot about the noisy mattress because all he could hear was the gasping of a person who was beyond excited -- this person was turned on like crazy. Sam's cock began to harden within his boxers as he listened to the increasing urgency in those gasps. 

The gasps that came from Dean.

Sam had never overheard his brother having sex. From the way he flirted, Dean seemed like the encouraging type who would enjoy making his partner do the moaning.

To hear him like this -- and oh, my god, did he just _whimper_? -- was a revelation to Sam. His brother was _noisy_. Sam grinned in the dark. Oh, was he going to enjoy teasing Dean with this tomorrow.

He watched the shadow of someone sit up on the bed. It was the redhead. Sam studied the round curve of her breasts and her slim waist and concluded her shadow was pretty damned hot. His cock grew longer and thicker. He shifted his legs as quietly as he could to accommodate its growth.

In the shadow peepshow a pair of hands rose up from the bed and reached for her breasts. Sam bit his lip. _Yeah, Dean. Touch her._

He felt a moment's guilt as her moan drifted to his ears and he watched her throw her head back in pleasure. But then he told himself she knew he was there. Dean would have told her beforehand and there was no way she wouldn't have seen him; the beds were only three feet apart. She didn't care if he heard or saw. That's what he told himself.

Dean fondled her for another minute before the redhead caught his hands, stilling him. To Sam's surprise, he heard her voice: "Do you want to feel my mouth?"

It was whispered, but in the silent room it was still loud enough for him to hear. So was Dean's sudden hitching of breath.

"Yeah," Dean whispered back. "I'd love that."

Sam bit his lip. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead. This was going to be _hot_.

"Then beg me."

Sam's eyebrows shot up into his hairline when he heard Dean murmur, "Please . . ."

Sam stopped breathing. A weird ache began to burn low in his belly. He felt caught, conflicted between arousal and unease. Begging was something he used to make Jess do. It was something that really got him off. He never thought he'd hear his own brother doing it. 

Or that it would still turn him on. 

Panic started to well in his chest.

"Please," Dean panted again, a little more desperate. "Please . . . I want your mouth on me."

"How badly do you want me to suck you, Dean? Tell me."

Her voice was sultry and coy and held far more experienced than any of the girls Sam had never been intimate with. If it were him in that bed he would have lost interest. He liked being with nice girls who let him be in control. 

But it wasn't him in that bed with her. It was Dean.

"I want it bad," his brother whispered, and to Sam's surprise it sounded as if he was really into what he was being forced to say. 

The redhead laughed softly. "Will you moan for me, baby?"

A slight hesitation. "Yes . . ."

That single word sent a forbidden thrill straight to Sam's cock.

He watched her shadow shift on the wall. She bent forward. She started crawling backwards, her head moving south. Sam's fingers clutched the sheets as he watched her head dip over the area of his brother's groin.

"Oh . . . _god_ ," Dean choked out.

Sam's knees came up, cradling his hard dick. His face was burning. His T-shirt stuck to his back with sweat. He panted as he watched the female bartender bob up and down over his brother while the room was filled with the sounds of sucking and slurping noises.

"Yes -- the head -- harder. Oh, fuck."

Sam was startled to find his hand in his boxers and on his dick, squeezing the head, just like Dean was begging for. He turned his head and muffled his groan with the pillow. He pushed his rigid cock up into the tunnel of his fist.

"You like having your balls sucked, honey?"

Oh, shit. Her breathy question made Sam bite into the pillow and shudder. As hot as it was to do this while his brother and his girl were unaware, Sam wished he could just roll over and jack himself off hard and fast. This was _killing_ him.

"Anything," he heard Dean gasp in a voice so devoid of cockiness or control that it made Sam think instantly of Jess.

Of a girl.

"Lick me."

She murmured something in response, but it was drowned out by Dean's ragged exhalation. She was licking his balls, Sam realized, his own sac tightening in envy. He closed his eyes. That lucky son of a --

"Nnnh! Wait -- what are you doing?"

Sam's eyes shot open in alarm. He saw the shadow of Dean half-sitting up in bed and then collapsing backwards, accompanied by a startled, but clear moan of pleasure.

"Shhh, honey. Don't tell me you've never fingered yourself before. See? It feels good, doesn't it? ‘Specially when I press right here?"

"I -- It -- oh, god . . . oh, fuck!"

_Fingered yourself_. Sam's mouth went dry as he realized what she meant. Her finger was up Dean's ass. She was finger-fucking his brother and by the sound of it he was about thirty seconds from going off like a banshee because of it.

_Dean liked having something up his ass._

It was knowledge that ten years ago Sam would have used to blackmail his older brother. But now -- now the knowledge wasn't so funny. Dean liked being finger-fucked. Maybe . . . he liked being fucked. Period.

And it was that thought, that wild, outrageous thought, which pushed Sam over the edge. He gasped into his pillow. His eyes clenched shut as he climaxed in hot, streaming spurts over his hand. He groaned quietly while his cock twitched and sputtered. 

Wow.

As he searched for breath and equilibrium he heard a strangled cry from the other bed and knew what had happened.

That was how Dean sounded when he came.

That was how Dean sounded when he came with something up his ass.

Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know that. But it was too late now.


	2. Chapter 2

The redhead left. Sam never caught her name and it didn't matter anyway because in his mind he'd begun calling her The Bitch. Why he'd come up with that name for her was difficult to say since she hadn't really done anything to deserve it. But it felt good calling her that so he did.

After Dean returned the favor and forced Sam to listen to her moans, The Bitch thanked Dean and left without a shower, leaving the Winchester brothers in their separate but equally uncomfortable messes. Sam tried to continue faking sleep to avoid the inevitable awkwardness, but typically, Dean didn't share in his shyness.

"Yo, Sammy, was that hot or what? Dude, she was all over me."

Sam cringed. He felt like he should want to throw up or something but his stomach had that weird jumpy feeling he associated with anticipation, not revulsion.

"Yeah, man," he said, relieved that his voice sounded normal even though no other part of his body felt the same way. He stared at the wall where he could see Dean's shadow sitting up. "There was no way I could sleep through that."

Silence fell. Sam smiled grimly. He wanted Dean to think about what, exactly, he'd just said and done while having sex with that woman. He wanted Dean to think about what he'd made Sam go through while having sex with that woman.

He wanted an embarrassed explanation. He wanted a stuttered excuse to appease the tension that even forty minutes later still had Sam wired and thinking about his dick. He wanted something from Dean to punish him for the fact that Dean had had that woman's fingers up his ass and he, Sam, had enjoyed it.

"Glad you liked it," Dean said with a chuckle, and then he stood up and walked past Sam's bed to the bathroom.

"Glad you liked it?" Sam repeated to himself, incredulous. He listened to the shower turn on. It took all of his willpower not to get up and storm into the bathroom and grab his brother and shake the shit out of him. Glad you liked it? he wanted to yell at Dean. Don't you know I heard everything that she did to you?

But if he did that, if he went there, it would open the door to questions about why Sam had gotten off like he had. And no, just no. Sam was not going there. No way, no how.

When Dean finally exited the bathroom, Sam took his place. And in the shower he kept his hands by his sides and let the water clean his dick.

There was no way he was going to touch it.

***************************

In the morning, he adopted a different take on what had happened. Dean was a whore. Sam knew it. Dean was proud of it. Anything associated with sex and orgasms was right up Dean's alley, so who cared if he enjoyed a little ass play? It was a physical stimulation that apparently felt damn good.

It didn't. Mean. Anything.

As they passed the Iowa state line Sam looked out the side window and nodded to himself. Yes. He could deal. If he could attend Stanford and convince everyone there that he was just another normal kid from another normal family, he could make himself believe he and Dean were cool.

"Next time," he spoke up, "I want a girl, too."

Dean glanced over at him with a smirk on his lips. "Aw, Sammy, did you get jealous of me last night?"

Sam gritted his teeth. "No, but I'd rather have a girl moaning in my ears than you."

His voice came out sharper than he'd intended, but Dean just laughed.

"You know I make you hot, Sammy. Admit it."

He took a deep breath. "Call me Sammy again and I'll kick your ass."

***************************

His plan to exorcise his unwelcome feelings ended up being forgotten and unneeded in Iowa, however. There, he met Lori, the preacher's daughter. When he was with her Sam felt everything he should have and wanted to. He liked her. He could have stayed with her. But he didn't.

And when Dean asked him if he did, in fact, want to stay, Sam found himself inexplicably angry with the question. Dean was willing to leave him behind with a girl he might one day love. It was what brothers did for each other, but Sam realized he didn't want Dean doing it for him.

Instead of answering, he only shook his head, and let Dean assume he was upset over the circumstances.

Sam tried to believe that, too.

They found another motel in another no-name town. And just like clockwork, Dean found them a bar, a pool table, and soon, Dean found a woman.

He didn't try to push a girl onto Sam. He flirted solo. Sam was grateful. He felt wrong just being there. He asked himself if he was feeling guilty over Lori but he knew, deep inside, that that wasn't his problem.

"Mmm, you're good, aren't you?" cooed a blonde beauty dressed in a tank top and jean skirt as Dean sank two balls at once. She leaned sideways over the pool table, her breasts sagging like two oranges in a plastic bag. "Just how good are you?"

Dean gave her his patented smirk from over his extended arm. "I'm hoping you're better," he drawled.

Sam rolled his eyes. Unable to stand the cheesiness he walked over to the jukebox. He was pleasantly surprised that they actually had a jukebox in this little dump. But when he looked closer he realized it was a replica that actually played CDs. Figured.

"Hey."

Dean came up on Sam's left. His eyes flicked from the jukebox to Sam's face, where concern took over his features. "You okay? We can leave anytime you want. I just thought you'd prefer to take your mind off . . . you know. But if you're uncomfortable --"

Sam shook his head. "I'm fine. And you're right; I'd rather be here than sitting in our room trying to find a decent channel on TV."

"There's always porn pay-per-view," Dean teased, his slanted grin managing to look both endearing and lecherous.

"Yeah, great."

Dean's smile faded. Sam recognized the Big Brother Look that replaced it. He would never admit it but he missed seeing it. They were both grown men and were supposed to be able to take care of themselves but Sam still missed this -- being the most important thing to Dean . . . the way it used to be when they were boys.

"You sure you're okay?" Dean pressed quietly.

Sam took a deep breath. He didn't want issues. He didn't want barriers between them, and that's exactly what he'd get if he were truthful. "Yeah. I'm good." He looked back over his shoulder. The blonde in the tank top was waiting for Dean at the pool table, her look surprisingly predatory. "You bringing her back to the room?"

"Oh, hell, no." Dean looked at him as if he were crazy. "Dude, I'm not totally insensitive."

That made Sam laugh. "Yeah, okay. So I'll ask again: you bringing her back to the room?"

Dean's eyes were suddenly very still and very intense. "I thought it bothered you last time. You acted like it."

Sam dropped his eyes to the jukebox, afraid the heat that swept through his body would show up on his cheeks. He told himself nothing had changed. Just because he'd seen a different side of his brother didn't mean anything was fundamentally different with Sam Winchester.

"I was a little weirded out at first," he admitted, "but I got over it. It's no big deal, Dean."

"Why did it weird you out, Sammy?"

Sam fiddled with the buttons on the jukebox, absently pushing the lettered buttons to spell out his brother's name.

Dean's voice persisted like a poltergeist. But it was without malice, holding something else, something that made Sam nervous. "Tell me, Sammy."

Sam's palms became damp yet his cock was thick within his boxers. There was nothing sexual about this conversation and yet his body was reacting as if there was. But he was only talking with Dean. Dean, his brother . . .

Flustered, he decided to turn the tables. He raised his eyes and smirked. "I didn't expect you to sound like that, that's all. You sounded like a chick. It was pretty funny, man. I was embarrassed for you. Like, a lot."

The light of the jukebox highlighted every sharp angle and smooth dip of Dean's face. Sam noticed for the first time how long Dean's lashes were and how vulnerable long lashes could make a man look. And then Sam wanted to bash his head through the jukebox for even thinking about his brother's lashes.

"I guess you never know what a guy's like until you get him into bed, eh?" Dean cocked an eyebrow at him. "Least you didn't have to put out to get that inside info on me. You just eavesdropped, you pervert."

Sam laughed uneasily. "Yeah. Boy, am I lucky."

"She sure was." Dean grinned.

The return of cocky Dean made Sam breathe a sigh of relief. This version of Dean didn't ask questions he shouldn't.

"So like I said," Sam began, feeling more at ease, "if you want to bring her back to our room, I'm cool with it. Honestly. I don't want to cramp your style."

Dean leered at him. "You just want to listen to her screaming my name."

Sam patted his brother's shoulder in mock condescension. "Whatever helps you get it up, man."

*************************

Dean said he doubted the blonde would be willing to come back to the motel room if Sam slept in the other bed. Sam knew better. That look she'd given his brother had been pure sex. And more than that, it had been aggressive. Hungry. She wanted Dean and she was going to have him.

He refused to think about how much that turned him on.

As he lay in bed, awaiting their entrance, he thought about the other women he'd seen Dean flirt with. He tried to determine if his brother had a type. Hair color didn't seem to matter. Age was consistent but that was expected. Body type -- well, Dean could expect to bed attractive women and that's who flocked to him. Maybe there wasn't a pattern. If the woman was beautiful and receptive, Dean was interested.

Why are you analyzing your brother's sex life?

Groaning, Sam punched his pillow before dropping his head into it again. He needed to get a life and stop trying to live vicariously through Dean. Was his problem that he hadn't gotten any since Jess was killed? Was it something as elemental and temporary as getting laid?

He heard the key in the lock. He made a split second decision, flopping onto his stomach and turning his head to face the door. He flung his arm over his head to shield his face.

When Dean opened the door, Sam worried that the beat of his heart might be so loud Dean would hear it and turn around and leave. But Dean didn't leave. He walked in and he wasn't alone.

Sam couldn't see them beneath the cover of his arm but he recognized the blonde's voice. He could also smell the alcohol.

Dean was normally a careful drinker. He couldn't afford to get wasted when a moment's notice might be all they got before their father called or a shapeshifter knocked on their door. But he was drunk now, or at least buzzed pretty hard. Sam listened to the two of them laugh as they clumsily undressed each other. Every so often he heard the familiar wet smacking of them kissing and he wondered how many of those kisses managed to be mouth to mouth.

"Are you sure your brother's asleep?" he heard the blonde ask as the two of them finally stripped off everything and crawled onto the bed. No squeaks from the mattress this time.

"Don' worry 'bout him," Dean said on a sigh. "My Sammy sleeps like the dead. Which doesn' mean much when there’re zombies and stuff, but yeah . . ." He snickered, and Sam couldn't help smiling a little at how happy his brother sounded when he was wasted.

"Too bad," the woman purred. The sound of a condom package tearing. "I've never done brothers before. It would've been sexy."

"Yeah, but I don' share my Sammy. Sorry"

Sam opened his eyes beneath his arm.

"Mmm, you two are close?"

Sam heard the teasing in her voice even if Dean was too drunk to recognize it. Sam moved his arm slightly and now he could see them: Dean stretched out on his back while the blonde sat on his lap, her hands braced on his bare chest. Her breasts caught the light, but Sam was interested only in Dean's face.

"Closer than close," Dean murmured happily as his hands settled on her hips. "Super close."

"You two are handsome," the blonde said, bending over Dean to kiss his nipple. She looked up when he let out a quiet moan. "You two ever play with each other? You know, a little fun between brothers? You two would look so sexy together."

Sam sucked in his breath. Was she serious? How could she ask such --

"Sammy only likes girls," Dean breathed. He tugged on her waist to urge her to move. "Ride me," he urged in a lust-roughened voice. "Treat me like a bad boy."

She obliged him, guiding his wrists to the mattress beside his head and holding them there while she grinded on him.

"Have you been a bad boy, Dean?" She swiveled her hips, making Dean gasp and turn his face to the side. Directly towards Sam.

Sam stared at his brother's expression, his mouth going dry as he watched the lust and need blossoming over Dean's face. Dean's eyes were clenched shut, his mouth opened in a desperate 'o' as the blonde in his lap slid back and forth over his cock. He looked helpless and needy and everything Sam had never seen in him before.

"Does Dean deserve to be punished?" she demanded in a husky growl.

Fuck. Sam hunched his hips down, pushing his cock into the mattress. He watched avidly as color bloomed across Dean's cheeks. A desperate-sounding whimper slipped from Dean's lips and it was the whimper that broke Sam, that forced him to hump the mattress and curl his fingers into the sheets and begin to strain for relief from the intense pressure in his balls.

He didn't want this. He told himself he didn't, that he should be watching the blonde and her breasts and the way her ass cheeks spread as she straddled Dean -- he shouldn't be watching his brother.

But Sam couldn't pull his eyes away from the erotic sight of Dean being dominated in bed. Sam had never expected to see this, never thought it would matter if he did . . .

"Such a bad boy," the blonde moaned.

Sam shuddered. Then you should punish him.

On the other bed, Dean's neck arched as the blonde shifted and pressed her hips back. She moaned loudly and Sam knew that she was taking Dean then, her body swallowing him deeply. And it was precisely that -- her, taking Dean. He writhed beneath her, wrists still caught beneath hers, allowing her to dictate his pleasure. Surrendering to it.

As she rocked, Sam began to move with them. It was too easy to imagine himself in that bed with them, maybe behind her, pushing his cock into her from behind. Pushing, pushing . . . in his mind he pushed deeper and deeper until he was pushing right through her and up between Dean's spread legs and into his --

"Come for me, Dean."

Obediently Dean let loose a strangled cry and convulsed beneath her. To his shame, Sam followed less than ten seconds later, burying his groan into the pillow.

If the blonde reached orgasmed, Sam had no idea. Reality seemed to fade away for a while after he came. Or maybe he was just in denial over what had happened. Either way, he let his mind go blank, and tuned out the action on the other bed.

It was only when the door opened and closed that he came back to awareness. The blonde was gone, and Dean wasn't in bed. Sam sat up, grimacing at the stickiness in his boxers. The light was on in the bathroom. Like a putz in a horror movie, Sam got up to investigate.

Through the partially opened door he saw Dean at the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His hands hung in the sink where his fingers were rubbing over his wrists. Sam wondered if he was thinking of how that woman had held them down.

For long seconds Sam stood and stared, seeing someone new, yet someone so achingly familiar to him it was like a part of him.

He pushed open the door. Dean started guiltily, moving his hands apart. He threw a sheepish grin at Sam. "Hey."

"Hey," Sam replied.

He hesitated in the doorway, uncertain why he'd opened the door and announced his presence. He looked at the toilet, but he didn't need to piss. Instead, he looked back at Dean, who in the bluish fluorescence of the bathroom light looked as drunk as he'd sounded earlier. He was also buck naked.

Sam didn't look, though. He took a step forward. Then another. When he was directly beside the sink, holding Dean's confused gaze, he reached for Dean's right wrist and wrapped his fingers around it.

Something sparked in Dean's eyes beneath the blurring haze of alcohol.

Sam's heart rose to this throat. He squeezed his fingers, tightening them around Dean's wrist until they were a solid band of muscle and bone. Dean's lips parted. A puff of air escaped his lips. His eyes widened, his pupils bleeding outwards until they swallowed the color of his irises.

"S-Sammy?"

"Go to bed, Dean," he whispered.

His fingers registered the staccato beat of Dean's pulse. Sam let go of his wrist as if it burnt him. "Go to bed," he repeated hoarsely. "You're -- you're drunk."

He rushed from the bathroom and dove into his bed.

He covered himself with the sheet and blanket, burying himself like he used to when he was afraid of the things he couldn't see. He closed his eyes and struggled not to hyperventilate. All he could think about was what Dean had said -- Sammy only likes girls.

And what he hadn't.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning when Sam awoke -- or more accurately when he decided to give up trying to sleep -- Dean was still in bed, face buried in the pillow. The sheet was bunched around his hips, allowing the weak morning sunlight to spill over the contours of his back and pool in the curve just above his hips. He looked peaceful and content.

And hot.

Sam rose up onto an elbow. He couldn't see Dean's face, so he presumed Dean couldn't see him. Last night's tossing and turning seemed stupid in the light of day. Sam firmed his jaw and gave himself permission to look. He let his eyes roam over Dean's naked back with an interest that was beyond idle curiosity, beyond that of best friend -- beyond that of brothers. Or of a young man who'd previously considered himself straight.

Getting over the straight part was easier than the rest. Sam had spent time in college. He had an open mind, although admittedly he never thought he'd need to apply it to his own orientation. But he could deal with it. Maybe he was just bi. Bi was okay. It didn't close any doors prematurely.

It was the other that had Sam's heart thudding against his ribs. The brother part. Things like this weren't supposed to happen between brothers. Not between him and Dean, anyway. They had enough on their plates to have to deal with this, too. Being incestuous on top of everything else seemed a bit superfluous.

But Sam couldn't deny his interest in his brother. He admired the lean musculature in Dean's shoulders. He visually traced the dip of Dean's spine as it led down beneath the sheets at his hips. Sam stared at the V of his brother's back and imagined himself looking down at it as he eased himself between Dean's legs . . .

Sam's cock throbbed, wanting. Needing. I know this is wrong. But I can't stop it.

Unease drove him out of bed and into the bathroom. He stepped into the shower and pushed his face beneath the spray, half-hoping he could drown himself, half-hoping he could wash these incestuous thoughts out of his mind.

The water tickled his nipples and drizzled off the tip of his hardened cock. He leaned back out of the spray and closed his eyes. He wrapped his hand around his cock. He stroked it. He heard Dean's moans in his ears; he saw Dean's face against his eyelids. It was Dean's name on his lips when he came. Sam opened his eyes again and he was shaken. But not as much as he should have been.

*********************************

When he woke, Dean played the too-drunk-to-remember card.

"I hope she was hot, whoever she was," he groaned theatrically before stumbling to the bathroom without a single glance at Sam.

Sam told himself to be thankful. Even though technically nothing had happened last night, things could still be weird between them. He now had knowledge about Dean that shouldn't matter, but somehow did. Sam had taken that knowledge and used it to fuel a fantasy that had no business being in his head.

But he could be practical about it. He could have all the taboo fantasies he wanted, as long as they remained fantasies. Dean would never have to know what kind of a pervert his younger brother was. And Dean would never need to be nervous and anxious when they were together the way Sam was.

Nor as inexplicably excited.

Once they were both dressed, they checked out and headed for a nearby pancake house. It was small and warm. The smells wafting from the kitchen made Sam's stomach growl as they slid into a booth. After giving them a few minutes to look over the menu a waitress sidled up to their table, pad in hand.

"What can I get you guys?"

Sam pointed to the laminated menu. "I'll take the Cowboy Omelette."

Their waitress, a very young girl who looked like she might be a senior in high school smiled and nodded. "That's a good one." She turned to Dean. "What about you?"

"Assuming this is all that's on the menu," Dean said with a wink at her, "I'll take the short stack of pancakes. Blueberry syrup, please. Oh, and coffee."

The girl blushed. "I'll be right back with that."

Dean leaned his elbows on the table. He groaned as he massaged his temples. "God, my head hurts. Sammy, don't ever let me drink tequila again. You gotta look out for me. Your brother can be a stupid, stupid man."

"She's not your type," Sam said quietly.

"Doesn't matter. It was a one-night stand."

"Not her," Sam said impatiently. "The waitress."

Dean groaned and continued to rub his head. "She's cute, how can she not be my type? I'm an equal opportunity kind of guy."

Sam stared hard at him, his hands curling into fists beneath the table. "I mean it. She's not your type."

Dean chuckled, his head still bowed. "Sammy, any girl who's hot is --"

"She won't hold you down and fuck you the way you want to be fucked."

Sam's heart stopped.

A spoon clattered somewhere at the counter. The cook slapped the bell as he slid another order into the window. Every sound in the restaurant seemed amplified, including Sam's shallow breaths as they forced themselves past the sudden constriction of his throat.

Dean slowly lowered his hands from his head. His eyes slanted up warily, as if he had just come face to face with the Boogeyman. "What did you just say?"

Sam swallowed. He saw a path unfolding in his mind. He'd come to a fork. Which road are you gonna take, Sam?

He took the chickenshit one.

"I-I was there, remember? Both times. You like to be with dominating women."

Dean's eyes held steady. "Okay. I admit I got a kink there. But the way you said --"

"Our waitress isn't the type to do that," Sam interrupted hurriedly. He threw a fake grin at his brother. "I'm just trying to save you some time, man."

It was the lamest excuse ever, and he could tell that Dean didn't buy it for a second.

A blur of yellow came up to the table, carrying with it the smell of strong coffee. "I forgot to ask -- what kind of toast did you guys want?" The waitress filled the coffee cups already on the table.

Her reappearance made Dean drop his eyes. Freed from that intense gaze, Sam leaned back in the booth. "Wheat, please."

"I'll take white," Dean muttered, picking up his butter knife and studying it as if it were engraved with the directions to their father's hiding spot.

"Okay. Your food'll be right up."

Sam ignored her as she left. His eyes were for Dean. Words crept to the tip of his tongue. He tried to swallow them down, but they slipped out before he could stop them: "What did you think I meant?"

A dull flush rose to Dean's cheeks. Sam was caught aback, not by the fact Dean was blushing, which was a rarity, but by how much Sam liked seeing it. Dean was always confident in everything he did. To see him flustered over something Sam had said made Sam lean forward, an unexpected aggression pumping through his veins.

"What do you think I meant?" he repeated doggedly.

"I thought you --" Dean looked up, his gaze briefly touching Sam's and then darting away, "-- I thought you meant I liked to get fucked." He hesitated, a muscle in his jaw rippling. "By a man."

Damn.

Dean had said it. He'd gone and said it. Now that it was out in the open instead of hiding in Sam's brain, Sam experienced a dirty sort of thrill like when he accidentally got a peek at a woman's breasts or saw up her skirt. His jeans tightened. His balls drew up. He fought for the words, tried to say, "Well, do you?" But he couldn't bring himself to say it; he couldn't push himself that last step that would tear away the veil.

"Why would I say something like that?" he asked instead, impressed by how calm his voice sounded.

Dean opened his mouth, closed it. He picked up the knife again and appeared to be looking at himself in its reflection. "I don't know why you would say that. It's crazy, right? You'd never say -- or think -- something like that about me." He looked up again, that weird intensity in his eyes again. "You'd never think I wanted that. That I wanted a man to do what those women did to me."

The waitress showed up again. "Here you go, guys. Enjoy."

Steaming plates of food were set in front of them. The omelet smelled really good, fresh and savory. But Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from Dean to look at it.

"No," he said carefully, studying Dean suspiciously. "I'd never think you wanted that."

***********************

At their second stop for gas they learned through the newspaper of a series of gruesome murders which sounded like the work of a shapeshifter. Dean declared they would go and investigate and Sam, his mind preoccupied with other things, let him make that decision.

It turned out to be an ugly, messy affair. It was a shapeshifter, alright, and once again he and Dean found themselves tromping through dark, watery tunnels. But unlike the last time, neither of them were caught and tied up, although it was at the back of Sam's mind as he raced with Dean through the darkness.

When they cornered the thing, Sam had to resort to the shotgun. The resulting explosion was disgusting, to say the least, but thankfully Dean ended up wearing the majority of it.

"Fuck, thanks again," Dean groused as they sloshed back through the tunnels in the direction of the Impala. He wrung his hands of slimy shapeshifter guts. "If I didn't like my pancakes so much I'd puke them up. This is totally gross, Sam."

"You knew I only had the shotgun. I don't know why you chose to stand so close to the thing."

"I didn't think you were gonna shoot while I was standing right there! You could've hit me!"

Sam smirked. "Lucky for you I hit what I aim for."

They finally emerged into twilight and relocated their car, parked in a culvert. "Alright fine," Dean conceded reluctantly. "It was a good shot. And I kinda liked that you went all Rambo when you yelled like that."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, I got carried away, didn't I? I just really wanted it dead."

"Nah, it was cool. Like I said, I liked it. Macho tough guy is a good look on you."

Sam swiveled his head in surprise. Dean smirked at him. "Assuming it wasn't a one-time thing, of course. You gonna turn back into my nerdy little brother?" Dean's eyes drifted from Sam's face to his hands. He cocked an eyebrow.

Sam followed his gaze and realized he was unconsciously stroking the barrels of the shotgun he held. Flushing, he lowered the weapon. "Don't underestimate the power of nerds," he joked nervously. "Just like Clark Kent, you think you know me, but you really don't."

Dean snorted dismissively. "Riight. Sorry to break it to you, Sammy, but you're an open book. If you had a secret I'd be the first to know."

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, inexplicably pissed by the remark, but knowing he'd be stupid to argue it.

At the Impala they opened the trunk and tossed in the gun. Dean peeled off his jacket with a grimace and flung it in with the weapons.

"I need a shower." Dean shook his head like a dog's, flinging bits of shapeshifter in an arc. He laughed as Sam cursed and ducked behind the cover of the car. "Come on, Sammy. Let's get a room so I can wash this stuff off." As he opened the driver's door he added casually, "We can grab some chips and beer and watch some porn."

Sam fumbled with the door handle on his side. "No hot date tonight?"

Dean didn't look at him. "Why bother? I've already got myself a Rambo."

*****************************

Sam listened to the water running. He could hear the difference when the water hit the side of the shower and when it hit Dean's body. Every time it hit his brother's body, Sam grew harder.

He had an opened bag of Frito's in his lap, using it to conceal the bulge in his boxers. It had been Dean's suggestion that they strip down for bed even though it was still early in the evening: "A coupla brothers sitting around in their underwear watching porn," Dean had cajoled. "It'll be the bonding experience we never had."

Sam chugged more beer, hoping it would help. The television was on ESPN for now since Dean had demanded they wait to watch the porn until he was clean and in his bed with his own beer and chips. A part of Sam hoped the rebroadcast of a really good game would come on the TV and they'd watch that instead.

The other part of him couldn't wait until Dean got out of the shower.

The faucet squeaked and the water shut off. Sam listened to the screech of the shower rings as Dean pushed the curtain aside. Dean wouldn't take long. Maybe three minutes at the most. Between Sam's thighs, his cock pulsed hard and heavy with anticipation.

He put the beer bottle to his lips again when the bathroom door opened and Dean stepped out, a towel clutched low around his lips. From over the top of the amber bottle Sam watched his brother walk to the foot of the second bed where a pair of briefs was laid out. He watched, wanting to see what Dean did, wanting to confirm something in his mind.

After a short hesitance, Dean turned his back modestly on Sam and dropped the towel. He tugged the briefs up his hips and over the taut curves of his ass.

"Why so shy?" Sam asked conversationally. "Did you take a cold shower and now your dick is an inch long?"

Sam's own dick was rigid because he knew. He knew.

Dean chuckled, the sound awkward. "It's more like I didn't want to make you feel bad that you got the short end of the stick in our family."

Sam set his beer on the nightstand. "Okay. As long as it's that. I was afraid you were just flashing your ass at me, hoping I'd bite."

Dean shrugged stiffly before climbing up the bed. He kept his eyes averted. "You wish, dude."

Sam only smiled and narrowed eyes.

Dean quickly brought his knees up to his chest as he leaned back against the headboard. He grabbed the beer Sam had set out for him and drank half of it in one toss of the head.

"Ahh," he gasped appreciatively, smacking his lips. He grabbed the remote from Sam's side of the nightstand. "Now for the ladies."

The basketball game was abruptly replaced with two young women with fake breasts and a hairy older man with a huge gut.

"Yuck," Sam protested immediately.

"Yeah, not my scene, either," Dean muttered. He clicked the channel. "There we go."

Sam's eyes fixed on the screen. Two young jocks were in a locker room setting, doubling up on a brunette cheerleader who was straddling a bench and blowing each of them. Sam's stomach somersaulted as he noticed the men were standing shoulder to shoulder, so close they could reach across and stroke each other. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Better."

They watched the scene unfold on the screen without another word to each other. There was enough moaning and dirty talk coming from the trio on TV, anyway. Sam discreetly pushed the bag of chips against his groin, seeking relief as the cheerleader rolled over onto her stomach on the bench. One jock took the front of her while the other took her back end.

"Oh, man," he heard Dean mutter as the jocks slid into her at the same time. "That's hot."

Sam gulped and just nodded. He was finding the action arousing, definitely, but he was also having trouble deciding on whom he should focus. He wanted to concentrate on the woman because that's where he was supposed to be looking, but his eyes kept straying to the guys, studying their bodies and cocks. They both had great bodies and boasted the impressive equipment that was necessary in the porn industry. But Sam wasn't as interested in them as he thought he should be, considering the direction his thoughts had taken these last few days.

When the guy receiving a blowjob from the cheerleader suddenly fisted his hand in her hair and ordered, "Suck it. Suck it hard", Dean moaned softly. Sam's cock went completely rigid. The chips bag would no longer balance in his lap.

He glanced at Dean from the corner of his eye. Dean had a hand between his legs. Sam's mouth went dry. Blood roared in his ears. He raised his eyes --

\-- and met Dean's.

A thousand reasons why he shouldn't do what he was about to do screamed through Sam's mind. But funny how not a single one of them was enough to stop him.

He slid out of bed, the chips bag dropping to the carpet, forgotten. Dean immediately moved his hand from his groin. "What's up, Sam?"

Holding his breath, Sam walked to the end of his brother's bed and then stopped at the foot of it. He watched Dean's eyes flick uncertainly from his face to the imposing tent in his boxers.

"That's some wood you're sporting there, Sammy." Dean's words were teasing, but his expression didn't hold amusement. He looked nervous and scared and oddly calculating.

Challenging.

"It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Dean licked his lips anxiously. "What do you mean?"

"You wanted to turn me on, wanted to push me." Sam looked meaningfully down at his own erection. "That's what you've been doing, isn't it, Dean? Pushing and pushing, hoping I'd finally break and give you what you want."

Dean shook his head, sudden awareness flooding his features. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sam understood what his brother was going through. It was one thing to entertain the idea in their minds. But to be on the brink of having it come true . . .

"How long, Dean?" Sam kept his voice low. Intimate. He found satisfaction in the shiver that traveled up his brother's body. "How long have you wanted this from me?"

"Sammy . . ." Dean's voice cracked as he turned his face to the side. "Sammy, I'm so sorry. So sorry . . ."

Sam could barely hear him for the thunder in his own ears. "How long have you wanted it, Dean?" His voice ended in a whisper. "How long have you wanted to be fucked by your brother?"

Dean groaned and shut his eyes. "Ever since I found you again."

His distress over what he'd set in motion, oddly enough, eased Sam's own discomfort. Having Dean be the one to lose it made Sam feel stronger and more certain of his own motives. Everything was brought into sharp, crystalline clarity.

Slowly and deliberately, Sam hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down. The elastic caught on his erection before his sex sprang free, hard and throbbing. He stepped out of his boxers and placed one knee on the bed.

"But you want more than that, don't you?" he asked. "More than to be fucked?"

He felt dirty and maybe even a little bit evil to be talking this way to Dean and yet it made Sam's whole body break out in goose bumps of excitement. This was so wrong.

He'd never done anything hotter.

He grabbed Dean's ankles and pulled them down and apart in one smooth move. Dean gasped and whipped his head around, looking shocked to find Sam naked and on the bed with him. There was a wet spot on the front of his briefs.

Sam could feel the tip of his own cock brushing his abdomen as he began to crawl up the mattress between Dean's legs. He was so nervous his stomach flip-flopped wildly and his breath rushed quickly in and out of his lungs. But he felt alive, so damned alive, and Sam could not think of another thing in this world that he'd rather be doing.

He laid his palms on Dean’s shins and slowly slid them up his brother's legs as he moved upwards. Golden hairs tangled around his fingers as he dragged his fingertips up the inside of Dean's thighs, tickling and teasing like he would a girl.

Dean made a soft sound. His hands fell to the mattress where he grabbed fistfuls of the sheets. Sam held Dean's gaze as he crawled up as far as he could between his brother's legs. He leaned forward and smiled slightly when Dean closed his eyes and turned his face away again. Sam breathed hotly over the flushed pink cheeks of his brother.

"Beg me," Sam whispered. Beneath him Dean shivered violently. "Beg me for what you want, Dean. Maybe if you're good . . . I might give it to you."

"Fuck," Dean moaned. "Sammy . . ."

Sam brought his lips to Dean's cheek. "That's a start," he breathed. "Now tell me what you want me to do to you. Tell me everything."

Dean's hips lifted. The wet spot on his briefs grew larger. "Touch me."

Sam gathered his courage and then cupped Dean between the legs.

"F-Fuck!" Dean gasped, arching and pushing himself up into Sam's palm. "Oh, Sam -- oh, Sammy --"

"Yeah," Sam choked out, his own cheeks suddenly flaming with arousal. "That feels good, doesn't it?" He squeezed the hard tube he felt beneath the cloth and was rewarded with another gasp from Dean. The rush of power Sam felt was heady. He began to massage his brother's cock with increasing hunger. "Let me hear you, Dean. Tell me how it feels to have your brother touch you like this."

Dean panted. "So good -- so good, Sammy."

Sam looked down to watch what his hand was doing. He couldn't believe he was groping his brother's cock but more than that he was amazed that he wasn't sickened by it or turned off. In fact he was harder than he could remember being and they hadn't done that much.

That needed to change, he decided.

On the nightstand was one of their knives. Sam picked it up. The sound of its hilt scraping briefly across the laminate top made Dean open his eyes. They widened when they saw Sam holding the weapon.

"What are you doing?" he asked, staring at the blade.

Something in his voice made Sam pause, reconsidering. Keeping his eyes on Dean's face, Sam leaned back and brought the blade of the weapon to Dean's waist. He slipped his finger beneath the waistband of Dean's briefs and then used the knife to saw through the material until it gave way with a soft snap. Still watching Dean, Sam lightly dragged the tip of the knife across the mound of Dean's erection. "You like this?" he asked as he traced the plump head of Dean's cock through the cotton and then stroked the shaft with the sharp side of the blade.

"Oh . . . god." Dean tensed, his eyes locked on the progress of the blade. They both watched as his cock lengthened and finally shrugged off the mantle of his underwear like a chick breaking out of an egg.

"You're a real pervert, aren't you?" Sam asked, his voice free of malice. If anything he was utterly fascinated by Dean's secret kinks. He'd never had a girlfriend who was kinky, so to learn that Dean was turned-on by all of this . . . Excited, he slowly moved the blade to Dean's opposite hip and cut away the rest of the waistband. He grabbed the freed material and yanked it up and off of Dean, causing him to hiss as the cotton caught beneath his scrotum.

But Dean didn't tell him to be careful. Or to stop.

Instead, Dean lay panting harshly beneath him, pupils dilated and cock twitching as it hugged his abdomen. "Touch me, Sam. Please."

Touch. Touch bare skin. Touch Dean where a brother wasn't supposed to. Touch Dean.

Considering all the crazy things they'd been through together, this didn't seem that bad.

Sam lightly wrapped his fingers around Dean's erection. It was hot and smooth and felt, unsurprisingly, like his own. Breathing a little easier, he tugged once, drawing his fist from the dark brown pubes to the smooth, red head. Just to see what the reaction would be.

It was everything he wanted it to be. Dean cried out, his shoulders arching off the headboard, fingers clenching in the sheets. Encouraged, Sam repeated the motion downwards and then back up again. He was startled when his fingers encountered wetness at the tip. But he liked it.

"Is this what you want?" he rasped as he began to stroke Dean with slow, tight strokes intended to fuel the burn rather than put it out. A beaded pink nipple caught Sam's eye and without thinking about it he bent his head and sealed his lips around it. He suckled and laved it, moaning when Dean stabbed a hand through his hair and clutched him close. "This what you want?" he asked again, panting against Dean's spit-slicked nipple. "Tell me, Dean." He caught the nub between his teeth and pulled it away from Dean's chest.

"Yes, yes," Dean panted as he squirmed beneath Sam. "Oh, shit, Sammy, I can't believe . . ."

"Believe it," Sam growled in a voice he'd never heard himself make. "Tonight you're mine."

Dean moaned.

Sam fumbled blindly for one of Dean's hands. He pried it from the sheets and shoved it at his own cock. "Feel me, Dean," he ordered roughly as he began to stroke Dean faster and harder.

Sam groaned against Dean's chest as firm, masculine fingers curled around him. "Oh, god, yeah. That's -- that's going inside you, Dean. Jesus, tell me that's what you want." Please!

"I want it," Dean replied with passion while he fisted Sam's cock. "I want every inch, little brother." He laughed breathlessly. "Or make that, not-so-little." His fingers fluttered teasingly over the head of Sam's cock.

"Shit!" Sam shut his eyes, desperately holding off orgasm. His balls were tight and drawn up all the way against his body. Having Dean like this -- it was so unbelievable the thought alone was nearly enough to set him off.

He managed to control himself, though. He wanted more than a hand-job from Dean. Oh, yes, he did.

He pulled back from where he'd been chewing on Dean's nipples. He was pleased to see them red and swollen and wet from his mouth. Still smiling, Sam slid the knife he held up to Dean's throat.

Dean stiffened and stopped stroking him. "What're you doing?"

"Have you ever had a man force a blowjob on you?" Sam asked softly, but his voice held a dark edge.

The spots of color on Dean's cheeks bloomed brighter. "No." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing dangerously close to the blade. "Are you going to force one on me, Sammy?"

"Don't move."

He pressed the knife to Dean's throat and bent down. Dean's cock stared back at him, smooth, wet and pulsing in his hand. For the first time, Sam was grateful for that one experiment with Eric Waters in junior high. Thanks to that, he knew this wouldn't be so bad.

Dean made a garbled sound as Sam sucked him into the hot cavern of his mouth. Dean grabbed at Sam's hair to ride the bobbing of his head but beyond that Dean didn't move. He couldn't, with the knife at his throat, and Sam could tell by the steady leaking across his tongue that Dean was getting off on being held motionless while Sam did this to him.

Sam closed his eyes and savored this. This was Dean, his big brother. Dean, who'd taken care of him when their father had been too obsessed to remember to do the domestic things like changing a diaper or making dinner. Dean, the beautiful man Sam had tried not to notice, yet had been acutely aware of since the minute he found Dean in his place, asking for help.

He hollowed his cheeks and sucked the way he used to tell Jess to suck him. He let spit fill his mouth and he used that to lubricate his way down to Dean's groin and then back up again where he massaged the tip with his tongue. He could taste Dean, salty and bitter. He could smell Dean, too -- musky, hot and sweaty like a man got. Sam breathed deeply of him and shuddered as arousal tried to get the best of him again.

He moved his free hand up between Dean's legs. His fingers slid through the saliva and precome that slicked Dean's cock, gathering up the moisture on his fingertips. Sam lifted his head, letting the hard organ pop free.

"Do you deserve to be fucked, Dean? Tell me."

Dean arched his neck, pressing himself into the blade until a single bead of blood welled and spilled down his throat. "I do," he gasped. "I deserve to be fucked hard, Sammy. Teach me a lesson. Teach your big brother not to fuck with you. Fuck my ass, Sammy. Do it!"

Holy shit. The stream of dirty talk shocked Sam for a split second but he quickly got over it because, hell, he loved dirty talk.

"Is that right, Dean? Do you need to be taught a lesson?" Sam pushed his spit-slick finger against the furled ring of Dean's ass, holding it there without penetrating it. "Do you need something up your ass to come, Dean? Something bigger than what all those women could give you? You want my big cock?"

"Please," Dean keened, trying to push himself into the finger without decapitating himself in the process. "Put it in me, Sam. I need it."

"Yeah," Sam breathed, his eyes roaming covetously over every inch of Dean's sweating, heaving body. "But not this way." He rose to his knees and tossed the knife to the other bed. "I want you face down. I can get deeper that way."

By the way Dean's eyes almost rolled up into his head, Sam feared his brother would come right there. Fortunately Dean resisted, his wet cock still straining upwards and now drooling into his navel.

"On your face," Sam ordered in a low voice he only used during sex. "Ass up, Dean. I want to see what I'm getting."

Dean groaned and rolled over with an eagerness he usually reserved for chasing demons and spirits. Obediently he pushed his face into the pillow and thrust his ass up, legs spread.

It was a scene from a porn, and Sam's body responded appropriately. He stroked himself slowly as he admired the spread globes of Dean's ass. They looked tight and pale and the puckered hole between them --

Sam extended his hand and ran his slick fingers down the crease to finger the pink hole. Dean's breath hitched. His back arched, opening him further.

"Have you done this before?" Sam asked him.

Dean's guilty silence made Sam suddenly sick with jealousy. "Who?" he demanded, grabbing Dean's hip with his other hand and digging his fingers in. "How many?

"Just one," Dean admitted in his deep voice. "I was trying to pick up this girl in Cincinnati. When it was just me and Dad. She shot me down and this older guy bought me a sympathy drink. I'd never done anything like that before. Honest, Sammy. But he pressured me and --"

Sam's stomach churned. "Did he rape you?"

"No," Dean quickly assured him. "No, I wanted it. It was . . . intense."

Sam released his breath, relieved beyond belief. Most of his anger drained away with his anxiety. "So this won't hurt you, then."

Dean rotated his hips. "Only in a good way, Sammy." He hesitated, and then pointed to his jeans draped over the chair by the window. "I've got lube."

The quiet, almost shamed announcement made Sam grip the base of his cock tightly. "You were expecting this?"

"Not expecting. Hoping."

Sam wanted to laugh. All this time he'd been played and he'd had no idea. He drew his hand back and slapped Dean on the ass before leaning over his back and murmuring into his ear, "Good think you're such a Boy Scout, Dean, because I was going to take you with just my spit."

He laughed inwardly as Dean seemed to weigh how badly that would hurt. "Forget it, Dean. We're using lube." He leaned over the side of the bed and snagged Dean's jeans. He found a small travel-sized packet of K-Y and tore it open with his teeth.

"No condom," Sam announced as he slicked up his cock. "I'm filling you with my come and you're gonna like it."

"Shit, yes." Dean spread his legs wider. "Hurry."

Sam spanked him again. "Don't tell me to hurry. You're lucky if you get me, Dean. You've been tricking me this entire time." And the impact of that -- that Dean had wanted this and had been trying to coax him into giving in -- made Sam feel ten feet tall and fully in control of his brother.

He studied the handprint he'd left on Dean's ass and then spanked his other cheek. Dean groaned and shifted restlessly. Sam guessed his cock was as hard as a rock beneath him.

"What a pervert you turned out to be," Sam murmured, almost to himself. So this was what happened to a young boy who dedicated his life to helping his father fight the supernatural. Who would've guessed?

He spanked Dean again just for kicks -- and because he liked how Dean's skin pinkened -- before sliding his forefinger back and forth over his brother's entrance again. Stomping down his nervousness, Sam poked the tip of his finger against the wrinkled skin and exerted pressure.

Dean hissed as his finger slid in smoothly. Feeling more confident, Sam pulled it mostly out and then pushed in again.

"Fuck me," Dean breathed. The skin of his back was sheeted with a light film of sweat. "Just do it, Sammy. I want to feel it."

"I know you need to be stretched more." Sam added a second finger, stretching the ring as best he could because no matter how much Dean wanted it he wasn't going to hurt Dean that way. "It's going to be tight --"

"I want it that way," Dean groaned against the pillow. "Just fuck me already, or does your big brother need to show you how to do it?

Sam glared at the back of his head. "You want to be fucked like a bitch, Dean?" He withdrew his fingers and grabbed Dean by the hips. He placed the head of his cock against the gaping ring. "Try not to scream," he growled.

He flexed his hips and pushed inside, boring forward, unrelenting, holding Dean still when he tried to pull away with a stifled cry. Sam knew it was hurting Dean and a part of him hated having that knowledge. But he also knew Dean wanted it this way. Maybe it was penance Dean thought he deserved for instigating this situation. Whatever it was, Sam was willing to give it to him.

He clamped one hand on Dean's trim hip and the other on his shoulder, pulling him back while Sam forced his way inside him. By the time his pubes came up against Dean's ass they were both breathing heavily and Dean was shaking all over, his back muscles trembling beneath the skin like the ripple of a river.

Sam took a moment to catch his breath and then leaned over Dean's sweating back, instantly plastering them together. He moved his hands to beside Dean's head as he found Dean's ear and whispered, "How does it feel to finally have my cock up your ass? Can you feel me?" Sam flexed his cock, making Dean jerk and whimper. "Is it everything you wanted, Dean? Is this your fantasy?"

"Yes," Dean moaned, curling his fingers on the mattress. "Oh, god, Sammy, I can feel you in my ass . . . so big."

"Now you're going to feel me in your ass fucking you the way you've been asking for it." Keeping his intimate, restraining position over Dean, Sam drew back his hips. Dean moaned as he withdrew but then he all but screamed when Sam slammed back inside to the hilt. "Yeah," Sam groaned, slightly dizzy from the intense squeeze on his cock that was like nothing he could remember, "take my cock, Dean. You're my bitch tonight, aren't you?"

When Dean just gasped, Sam thrust into him again, rocking them both forward. "Say it," he demanded. "Admit you're my bitch, Dean. Say it!"

Dean cried out at the thrust. "I'm your bitch! I'm your bitch, Sammy. Oh, god, just keep fu-ucking me."

"I'm not gonna stop," Sam rasped. He grabbed a handful of Dean's hair and shoved his brother's face into the pillows while he fucked him even harder.

Dean cried out or moaned with every thrust, his voice muffled by the pillow. Sam reached for Dean's cock to make sure his brother was truly into the rough treatment. The hard, dripping shaft he found between Dean's legs was all the proof he needed.

"You love this," he gasped, ridiculously pleased. "You love it, Dean."

"Yes!"

The headboard slammed against the wall. It was too late to shove a pair of socks back there, and really, Sam liked it. The rhythmic thudding made him even more aroused, as if each heavy bang was testament to how completely he was dominating Dean. Loving that thought, he smothered Dean with his body, rubbing himself all over Dean both inside and out. He'd found Dean's prostate on the third stroke and after that Sam was like a squatter on a gold mine -- he never left that spot, making Dean writhe and squirm in desperation beneath him.

"This is how it's going to be . . . from now on," he panted into Dean's ear. Sam pushed himself in to the root and held himself there, rotating his hips to move his cock around Dean's insides like he was churning butter. Dean sobbed beneath him, his interior muscles clutching Sam spasmodically. "I'm fucking you every night, Dean. There's no turning back. . . You're mine."

"Sa-ammy!"

The sudden, violent constriction around Sam's cock made him gasp in surprise. The pleasure was so intense it made his entire body convulse. He couldn't stop it then: he threw back his head and shouted as he climaxed inside Dean. The muscles around his cock continued to milk him. Dean must be coming, too. It made Sam so happy to know he'd given that to Dean that he collapsed onto his brother's back and held him closely as they rode out their orgasms together.

When it was over, when they could breathe again, Sam waited for the disgust to roll in. He'd just had dirty, nasty sex with his brother. He'd just thoroughly dominated and fucked his brother stupid. He had to be disgusted. What other option was there? To be ecstatic? To want to do it again?

Yes, and yes, because that's exactly what Sam felt as he carefully slipped out of Dean and dropped to the mattress beside him.

He gently pushed the pillow from Dean's face. "Hey. Are you okay? I didn't -- I didn't hurt you, did I?"

A slow, quiet chuckle was his answer. One of Dean's eyes cracked open. "Sammy, I didn't know you had it in you. Or that you'd put it in me," he said with a smirk. "Damn, dude. If fucking were an Olympic sport you'd get the gold."

Sam released his breath. He lightly punched Dean's shoulder. "Yeah? Well, if being a horny bitch was a sport you'd be the number one draft pick." He laughed with Dean and eventually sobered, though the smile didn't leave his face. "So all this time, you were just fucking with my mind, huh? You knew what I was going through."

"Yeah," Dean said softly. "I didn't mean to cause you any stress, but, well, yeah, I wanted you and I couldn't just come right out and ask you, you know?"

Sam nodded. He fiddled with the sheets. "So, uh, do you have any other secrets I should know about? I mean, we may as well get 'em all out in the open now."

Dean smirked. "I have a few. What about you?"

Sam grinned. "Remember when you said I was an open book? Well, you were wrong. I'm not a book, I'm a magazine. A porn magazine."

Dean rose up on his elbows, sharing his grin. "Do, tell, Sammy. Do tell."

Sam licked his lips. "You're gonna love the centerfold . . ."

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my site if you want to know more about me and my writing http://www.triciaowensbooks.com


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